Power and Control
by 1848EllisBell
Summary: S2 AU Post-Ep for The Mistress Always Spanks Twice, because Beckett's boyfriend is imaginary, and that position is totally possible. **repost**


****"Since 2009, Castle has brought out the writer and reader in many of its viewers, reminding each of us how transformative good storytelling can be. Because we are so grateful for the hard work and love Terri Edda Miller and the whole Castle team put into telling the story of our favorite characters, we want to say "thank you" by donating to a cause close to Terri's heart: the Young Storytellers Foundation , an organization whose mission is "to inspire children to discover the power of their own voice." Between now and December 8th, please give what you can in honor of the Castle family to pass on the gift of storytelling to the next generation of writers." Clink on my profile for links to donate, or help spread the word using the twitter hashtag #ThankYouTerri.****

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><p><strong>Alright, Folks. This fic has swearing, and a Beckett who gives in to Castle's smoking hotness in S2 and does things our canon Beckett waited until the end of S4 to do (sex, ppl, I'm talking about sex). If any of those things bother you, back arrow out now. <strong>

**E****veryone else, ENJOY.**

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><p>He's been in a constant state of arousal the past three days, his thoughts have taken up residence in a reptilian corner of his brain, stuck on an endless replay of Beckett and that seemingly impossible sexual position, Beckett proving him wrong, Beckett writhing against him, Beckett, Beckett, <em>Oh my God, Beckett<em>….

He's a pervert, but he can't help it, can't shake himself out of it - and can't look her in the eye.

They watch Ryan walk off with Jenny, and he feels the pang of something deep inside; it unsettles him. Not because Ryan's happy, no, but because Beckett's been seeing someone and that- _Oh_, yes. That's definitely jealousy shooting through him.

"So what about this imaginary boyfriend of yours?" he asks, keeping it casual, trying to mask his desperate need to find out if he really exists or not. "Are we gonna see him around here or is he at home tied to a bed?" _And can I trade places with him?_

"What's the matter, Ricky?" she drawls, wrapping her tongue around his name, teasing each letter with her lips. "You jealous?"

He swallows hard, can't let her see she's affecting him. "No. You only get to punish him at night. You punish me all day."

"Well, you deserve it."

_Lies. All lies_, he thinks, as they walk side-by-side to the elevator. "What did I do to you?"

"Let's just start with the first day we met…"

He stops beside her, presses the button to summon the cab, and guesses, "Oh, it was the kiss on the cheek, wasn't it? Got you all hot and bothered and now you need to get your own back." He drags his eyes up and down her body, lingering on her chest a little longer than is proper, before focusing on her lips, her eyes.

She releases a soft snort, and breaks his intense gaze. "Don't flatter yourself, Castle." She rolls her eyes, but he pushes on.

"Or was it the stubble I was sporting back then, that rugged look really does it for you, hmm?"

Another eye-roll, another short puff of exhaled air. "Hardly."

"What if I leaned in, and said _debrief_," he asks, his tone low and husky, so close to her he can almost taste the electricity zapping between them.

Her eyes flick his way, before she punches the elevator button again, harder this time, and fixes her eyes straight ahead. "No effect," she tells him, her tone clipped. "You're being punished because you were a jackass back then, and you're being one now too."

"Feel free to punish me _harder_." He can't help it, his brain has switched back into Beckett replay mode, and all he can think about is getting her naked, loosening her up a little, and- _yeah_, damn. She's right. He's a jackass. He runs a hand through his hair, and sighs. "I'm sorry."

She turns to him, surprise lighting up her eyes. "You should have just kept going, Castle," she tells him, stepping into the waiting elevator. "You almost had me." She turns to him, cocks an eyebrow, and presses the button to hold the door open.

Surely he's imagining this right now; there's no way she's suggesting he join her in the elevator and ride down to the lobby with her, and... sex. Them, sex, having. He can't even form the thought coherently in his mind. She can't be… But he steps quickly in beside her, just in case.

They ride in silence, both staring at the closed doors in front of them, no gazes faltering, no bodies flinching. Stiff, straight, terrified - but thrilled. The cab stops, and the doors open, and she turns to him. "My place. Ten PM. Don't be late."

And he's praying to every single God there is that he's interpreting this right.

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><p>He knocks on her door, the action hesitant - he's so nervous he feels a little nauseated. The door flies open before he's even finished the three short rasps of his knuckles against the wood, like she was on the other side, like she's been <em>waiting<em>.

She hauls him in, a hand clenched at his chest, around a fistful of his shirt, closes the door soundly behind them, and pushes him back against the hard surface.

"Your boyfriend?" he asks moments before her lips make contact with his.

"Imaginary," she manages to respond - and then she claims him.

_Thank. Fuck._

And it's clear he hasn't been the only one feeling the persistent buzz of arousal in his veins. Kate Beckett has a firm grip on his shirt; she's pressing her hot, open mouth to his, sliding her tongue past his, practically climbing his body, and if this is punishment then he'll willingly take whatever she deals out.

Her lips crush his, almost bruising in her need. He slips his hands under her shirt, feels her react, the need that ripples through her skin beneath the pads of his fingers, and he pulls her body flush to his. His mouth slides from hers, to her ear, he catches the lobe between his teeth, and growls, "What is this?"

She sucks in a ragged breath, before responding, "Debriefing."

"Just tonight?"

"I hadn't really planned ahead," she admits, her voice raspy and subdued. "Does that bother you?"

It might in the morning. And he thinks he should be concerned, but Kate Beckett is thrusting her pelvis against his, and curling her fingers around his bicep, and he just goddamn licked her earlobe, and- _Fuck it_. He'll worry about the consequences in the morning.

He drags his hands from where they'd been discovering the soft curves usually hidden from him, and grips her arms. Switching their positions, he pushes her back against the closed door, and nudges her legs apart with his knees. She emits a low moan when their lips meet, and his thigh pushes up against the crotch of her pants. Her hips rock, rubbing herself against his thigh, as broken sobs of need passing between their lips.

He trails a hand down between them, flicking open the buttons of her white shirt, moving lower to unfasten her pants, smoothly sliding his palm along her taut stomach, past the waistband of her panties, and two fingers gracefully dip lower still. Her body shudders against his; her legs ease just a little further apart, granting him unhindered access. Hot and ready beneath the pads of his fingers, he teases her with a whisper of a touch, sliding between her folds, circling with ever decreasing rotations.

Her head drops back against the door, her eyes slam shut, and she grips harder at his shirt, holding on as the sensations he's inflicting upon her coax her release out.

His need to taste more than her lips overcomes him, and he kisses a trail along her jaw, down her neck, focuses on one spot, and sucks gently, her blood pulsing beneath his lips.

"No, Castle," she manages to murmur, tilting her head, the movement enough to unhinge his lips from her neck.

No hickies. He gets it.

She bucks her hips, rotates them, crashes against his hand, desperate to increase the friction. And he just wants to slow down and worship her. His eyes travel to her open shirt, the pale bra, her breasts heaving with each breath she takes. He dips his head, drops kisses to the satin bra, laves his tongue across the hardened peak of her nipple, and then sucks gently through the material. Her back arches, the movement pressing her breast harder into his open mouth, and a low sob escapes from between her parted lips. His fingers rotate between her legs, his tongue flicks around her satin-clad nipple, and her back slides down the door as she struggles to stay on her feet.

He wants to wrap her leg around his waist, hoist her against him, press her core hard against him, and carry her to the bedroom. But Beckett doesn't seem like the type to be carried, and he's not entirely sure he could find her bedroom right now. So he keeps up his ministrations, keeps working on undoing her, feeling her uncoil just a little more with each tiny, hard, rotation.

"Bedroom," she moans.

"Where?" he breathes against her breast, and her body shudders as she chuckles silently in response.

He forces his mouth off her, eases his hand out of her pants, and helps her away from the door, just a little too proud of himself when he notices the slight shake in her legs.

She shrugs out of her top, and unhooks her bra as she walks ahead of him, pieces of his own clothing discarded with each step he takes. She's peeling off her pants when he enters her bedroom clad in his briefs and nothing more. She steps out of her panties, cocks an eyebrow, and then crooks a finger, gesturing for him to follow. He stands, frozen in place, watching her crawl backwards and naked onto her bed.

And it must be a dream - _it has to be_ - because reality doesn't look like this. He doesn't care, even if it's all in his mind, it's the best dream ever; vivid and tangible, it will stay with him long after he wakes. But if this is reality - _oh, God, please let it be real_ - he doesn't want to go back to how they were before. She better be thinking ahead, because he's going to need this again. Soon. And often.

He tugs the last of his clothing off, and he thinks he's just going to slide between her legs, and find his home within her, when she winks at him, and then blows his mind.

She eases onto her back, and lifts her legs, bringing her thighs parallel to the bed, her toes pointed and stretching past her head. Her body shaped like a C. _C for Castle_, he thinks haughtily. He can't help but stare at her perfect ass, raised and right in front of him, but them she's gesturing at him with her hands, and he hesitates no longer. Kneeling on the bed at her ass, he supports her with his thighs at her lower back, her hands curl at the back of his thighs to shuffle him closer. She lowers herself to line them up, his upper body folds along the back of her thighs until he is kissing her calves, and then he's sliding inside her, and she's so tight he barely stays in control.

She sucks in a breath as he pushes in, and then begins to rock against him. He slides in and out, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of her head to help keep his balance and find a rhythm.

_Holy. Shit_. Not only is the position possible, it's intense. He feels her move along him like no woman before, every sensation heightened by the tight, wet slide of her around him, and he falters, too lost in her to do anything but thrust messily, like it's his first time and he's lost control. But, with her, he's never really been in control, she has only allowed him to think so.

"Is that all you got, Castle?" she rasps out, breathless beneath him.

It spurs him on; he grips at the sheet on either side of her head, closes his eyes to hide her gorgeous, teasing lips, her bright, shining eyes, and grunts, slamming into her, hitting her deep.

"Fuck," she groans, just one word, long and low, dragging out the 'u', his thrusts breaking up the word, his hips slamming into hers making her voice falter.

He feels her come undone against him; he feels her body still, feels her fingers grip his thighs ever tighter, and he feels each wave of her orgasm as it rocks through her, and she finds release. She holds the position, digs her nails into him, and each spasm of her muscles around him, gripping him, then releasing, feels like it's in time with his heart. And the control is all hers. Short, sharp, hard thrusts, and then he's gone, lost, spilling inside her, breathing out her name.

_Kate_.

Praying she won't notice or mind. Hoping that one word hasn't just fucked it all up for him.

"You doing okay there, _Ricky_?" The use of his name like that letting him know she heard, and clearly finds it amusing.

He slides his lips over her calf, and then meets her eyes, and she's smirking like she knows she owns him completely now, like she won the power battle, like it's game over for him.

"No," he replies honestly. His back begins to protest, the endorphins fading, the burn in his spine reminding him he probably should have left this position to his imagination. He'll pay for it in the morning, but the ache will be worth it. With less grace than he'd planned, he moves away from her, rising up, lowering her legs down on either side of him, and then folding his body on top of hers. Overheated, slick skin meets, chests crush, arms snake around and hold on.

She wraps herself around him, holds him close; it occurs to him she hasn't kicked him out.

"So, I've planned ahead," she murmurs against his shoulder.

"And?" he asks, his lips ghosting her neck.

"There's something I like to do with my handcuffs, other than arrest criminals of course."

He pulls back, meets her eyes, and the glint in them makes him suspicious. "What? Leave me here cuffed to the bed while you go off and fight crime?"

"How about you come by tomorrow night and we'll see what happens?"

He purses his lips, considers it, and then accepts. Either way he'll be naked and in her bed.

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><p><em><strong>And the position I've attempted to describe is the the-sexual-seesaw-sex-position<strong>_


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